


A Simple Biological Response

by nostalgia



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alien Biology, Annoying Reproductive Cycles, Chess, Dancing, Dialogue-Heavy Sex, Dirty Talk, Doctor/Master - Freeform, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Heterosexual Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mild Angst, Semi-Pornographic, Sex, The Vault (Doctor Who), Vault Sex, twissy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 03:57:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11729022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: "It's... sort of like she's going to be in heat."Missy's reproductive cycle causes problems and the Doctor does his best to help out.





	A Simple Biological Response

Missy had been pacing back and forth around the vault for hours. She was obviously feeling very tense, relaxing and clenching her hands rather obsessively at her sides. Sometimes she appeared to be muttering under her breath, her features fixed in a worried frown. 

The Doctor had almost reached the bottom of the pile of essays he had been marking, glancing up occasionally to observe any changes in Missy's troubled behaviour before returning to his paperwork. She was refusing to talk to him and he knew that he was just going to have to wait out whatever mood she had fallen into.

He always saved Bill's essays for last, since they were usually substantially less tedious than the work of her fellow undergraduates. The latest topic he had given her to write about was wave-particle duality, and he was anticipating a good read as he lifted it from the coffee table, twirling a red biro between his fingers. 

Before he started reading he looked up at Missy again to see if she seemed to be any closer to calming down.

“Do you want to tell me what's bothering you?” he asked for what felt like the fifteenth time that afternoon. 

He wasn't actually expecting to get a response, so he was surprised when she stopped pacing and turned to look at him. He put the essay back down on the table, dropping the pen down beside it. He waited.

“I have something very important to tell you,” said Missy, clasping her hands in front of her skirt. “Something that's probably going to upset you significantly.”

“If it's about what you did with those pot plants Nardole gave you, I already know.” He knew it wouldn't be about that, she had probably already forgotten about the genetic monstrosity she had created.

She ignored his reply and continued. “As you know, I have only possessed a female form for a relatively short time. Most of my life has been spent as a man. Because of this prior misfortune I am occasionally somewhat lacking in my knowledge of feminine issues.”

“Look, if you want more make-up just write me out a list and I'll send Nardole to Superdrug, it's really not a problem.”

“Doctor, I would very much appreciate it if you would keep your comments to yourself until I have explained the matter in question.” She cleared her throat and went on. “I'm sure you're aware that Time Lord biology is a marvel of both evolution and genetic engineering. Nevertheless -”

“Missy, I don't have all day, can I please just have the abridged version?”

“Fine,” she said, “but I want you to remember that I was going to present you with this information in a manner which I had calculated to be substantially less distressing for you.” She adopted her most dignified pose. “I'm about to start ovulating.”

The Doctor rubbed his eyes with his hand. “Right. Of course you are. Obviously this isn't one of your better practical jokes, but eight out of ten for effort.”

“Doctor, this isn't a joke. Do you really think I would joke about something as serious as this?”

“Missy, this is _exactly_ this kind of thing that you would joke about. Put me in a panic, let me worry myself sick, and then two days later you say 'Ha ha, Doctor, you fell for my silly little joke.'” He shook his head. “It's not funny, I'm not laughing, you failed. Now let's just put this all behind us and move on.”

She took a step towards him. “I admit that in the past I've gone to extreme lengths to irritate and annoy you. I accept that this makes it harder for you to trust me and to take me at my word. But I promise you, Doctor, that this time I'm actually telling the truth.”

“Right, there's a story you might have heard at some point about a little boy and he starts telling people that he's seen a wolf, but in fact -”

“How long have you been keeping me in this vault? It must be about seventy years by now, yes?”

“About that, yeah. But I don't see what that has to do with -”

“Right, now allow about another decade before that when I was already wandering about the universe as a woman. That makes a total of eighty years. You may have failed biology, Doctor, but I'm sure you didn't fail basic arithmetic as well.”

He stared at her for a long time, trying to find a flaw in her logic. “Are you... you're actually being serious about this, aren't you?”

“Finally he accepts it!”

“Right, okay. It's not the most convenient thing for us to have to deal with, but I'm sure we can use the remaining time to prepare to the best of our abilities. When is it due to start?”

“Sometime within the next two or three days,” she said, promptly.

“Did you deliberately leave it to the last possible moment to tell me about this?”

“I told you, I'm not vastly experienced when it comes to being a woman. I've been feeling a bit out of sorts for weeks, but I didn't understand what was happening until today.”

He took a breath and sat back in his chair. “Missy, I don't know what I can do for you at such short notice. If I had enough time I'd synthesise some medication in the lab, something to help balance out the hormonal changes, but... I'm sorry, Missy, you're going to have to face this without any sort of backup.”

She gestured dismissively. “Millions of Gallifreyan women have done this before me, Doctor. Billions, even. I'm stronger than most of them were and it takes a lot more than hormones to frighten me. I can do this.”

“Okay. Uh, I assume this means you'll be wanting me to bugger off for a while so I don't get in your way?”

Missy shook her head. “No, Doctor, that's not what I want you to do. You're the only other Time Lord on this planet and the only person I can trust for any form of emotional support. Under no circumstances are you going to run away off-world and leave me at the mercy of your entourage. I want you to stay here, with me, in the vault.” 

“Missy, you do realise what's going to happen if I'm in here with you when this thing hits?” Either she had forgotten or she had finally gone completely mad.

“Of course I do, I'm not an idiot.”

“And you're okay with that?”

“Yes. Are you?”

He ran through the available options in his head. None of them were good. Finally he nodded. “If that's what you want me to do, if it'll help you get through this, then I'll do it.”

“Thank you,” said Missy, looking visibly relieved.

 

When he got back to his office Bill was already there, sitting in the chair in front of his desk. 

“Bill, you're early.”

“No, you're late.” She nodded towards the clock on the wall and he saw the time. Five past six. 

“Oh,” he said. “That doesn't usually happen.” He sat behind the desk and watched in silence as she rummaged around in her bag for her textbook and notes. He tried to decide what he wanted to tell her – he couldn't very well just disappear without an explanation. She deserved to know something at least.

He cleared his throat. “Bill,” he said, quietly, “before we get started here, there's something I need to talk to you about.”

She looked up from her search, notebook in hand. “Yeah?”

“It's quite personal, and it's alien, and I'm not sure how well I'm going to manage to explain it. Is that okay?”

She sat the books down in front of her on the desk and put her bag down on the floor next to her chair. “Okay.”

He took a slow, calming breath. “I'm not going to be around for a while. A few days, maybe, not more than a week.”

“Where are you going?”

“I'm going to be staying in the vault. With Missy. She's going to have to go through something that'll be very difficult for her, and she needs me to be there to help her.” He pressed on before Bill could ask any questions. “Time Lords live for a very long time, and because of that a lot of things in our culture, and our society, and even in our biology, happen a lot more slowly than they do for other species.” He looked down at his hands, clasped together on the desk in front of him, and then he looked at Bill. “Missy's about to start ovulating. It's... sort of like she's going to be in heat.”

Bill looked slightly dazed. “Oh,” she said. “Okay. I didn't realise that you and her were... like that.”

“We're not.”

“Won't that be kind of awkward, then? If you're... you know.”

“Yes, I imagine it will be.”

Bill sat back in her chair. She looked like she was having some trouble processing all this information, which was understandable. He felt a bit guilty about having burdened her, but it couldn't be helped.

“So,” he said, filling the silence, “you can have a week's extension on that essay, and if you need anything from here or from the TARDIS you can ask Nardole to help you.” He studied her expression for any clues as to what she was thinking, but she was managing to keep her expression neutral. He felt a bit proud of her for that. 

Time to move on. “Right,” he said, “tutorial time. What have you learned this week?”

 

He returned to the vault the next morning, stood on the threshold as the doors closed behind him. 

Missy was standing in front of the piano, fidgeting slightly. “You came back,” she said when she saw him.

He shrugged like it was nothing. “I said I would. I promised.”

“Thank you,” she said, sincerely. She nodded towards the hold-alls he was carrying in his hands. “What's in those?”

He held up the bag in his left hand. “This one's mine. Mostly just toiletries and some clothes.” He lifted the other one. “And this one's for you. A few things I thought you might need.”

She smiled. “That's very thoughtful.”

He shrugged, then nodded towards her bed. “We can sit down for a bit and I'll show you what's in it.” When she nodded her assent he left his own bag by the door and walked over to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. 

“Right,” he said, opening the bag. He reached into it and pulled out some brightly-wrapped squares, handing them to her. “Chocolate from Andromeda, good for keeping your energy levels up, plus it's chocolate which I understand is traditional for these sorts of things.” When she raised a curious eyebrow he added, “You know... womanly things. Menstrual cycles and the like.”

He rummaged for a bit and then produced a square tin. “That tea you like from medieval China. Had a bit of trouble getting hold of this, actually, there were these giant lizards and... I can tell you the whole story later, if you like.” 

“Vintage Game Boy, with Tetris,” he said, handing it over. “In case you want something to do with your hands, something to focus on for a bit. And here's some new books, I picked them from that list you gave me last month.” He piled the items between them on the bed. “Oh, and here's those clothes you asked me to get you. New bubble-bath, so you that can pamper yourself a bit. Again, I think that one's traditional.”

He pulled out the last item, the most important thing he had picked up for her. “And some contraceptive pills.” He dropped the bottle into her outstretched hand. “You need to take two of these every day for the next two weeks. Do you think you'll be able to remember that?”

“Two a day,” she said, “easy. Anyway, I'm sure you'll remind me if I forget somehow. You can be quite sensible when the situation demands it. Do I start taking them today?”

“Might be a good idea, yeah.” He glanced over the selection on the bed, wondering if he had managed to remember everything he had intended to bring her. “Do you want to put these things away while I make us something to eat? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all. Or so I keep reading in newspapers.”

She nodded and began to organise the pile on the bed. The Doctor headed towards the kitchen area, then stopped when he was halfway there to turn back to her to ask a question that had slipped his mind earlier. “Oh, uh, where do you want me to sleep?” he asked.

“In the bed,” said Missy. “With me.” She shrugged. “We'll probably be spending most of our time there anyway, so...”

“That's... uh... that's a good point, yeah.” He waited for a moment in case she had anything she wanted to add. She didn't.

 

Morning turned into afternoon turned into evening. The time passed rather pleasantly, with Missy on her best behaviour and the Doctor willing to allow her a little extra leeway under the circumstances in which they had found themselves.

They discussed the most trivial topics they could think of and allowed themselves to enjoy the relative calm while it lasted.

By the time they had settled down to go to sleep, the Doctor had managed to convince himself that everything might actually be okay. Yes, the situation presented a challenge, but they were sure to prevail in the end.

 

“Doctor.” Missy's voice, audibly distressed. “Doctor, wake up, please.”

He was stirred from his sleep by her hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. He opened his eyes and it took a moment for him to remember where he was. According to his internal sense of time it was the early hours of the morning, and that instinct was backed up by how dark it was in the artificial night of the vault.

“It's okay, Missy, I'm awake.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes and shifted onto his back. “What's wrong?”

“It's started,” she said. “I can feel it.”

He pushed himself up on his elbows. “You're sure?”

She nodded. A slight flush spread across her features as he looked at her. “I had this dream,” she said, not meeting his gaze. “About you. It was quite... graphic.” She shuffled closer, lying on her side to face him. “And then I woke up, and I felt so tense all over. Like I'm a coiled-up spring. And the only thing I can think about is you, touching me.”

This really was actually happening then. He could see fear in her eyes. Shame. Her body was betraying her and he could only guess at the mix of emotions that she must be feeling right now. “It's okay, Missy,” he said, softly, “we're going to get you through this. Just tell me what you need me to do.”

When she spoke he could hear the subtle tremor in her voice. “Will you touch me, Doctor? Please?” He had never imagined that she could sound so timid. 

He nodded. “Of course. Where?”

“Anywhere.”

He brushed her upper arm with his fingertips, then pressed his palm down over the same spot. He could feel heat radiating from her through the soft fabric of her pyjamas. He trailed his hand upwards to her neck, back down towards her waist. He knew that this hesitant contact wouldn't be enough for her, it was obvious that she needed something more. 

“Lie on your back,” he said quietly, nudging her arm to encourage her to move. He'd have better access to her in this position, could explore her more easily. He moved his hand to her breast, pressing gently. 

“You've never touched me there before,” she observed. 

“Is it okay?”

She nodded. “It's nice. I like it.”

He rubbed his hand over it, cupped the curve with his palm. 

She reached to stroke her fingers through his hair. “You can take my top off, if you like,” she offered, “so you can feel the skin.”

He started to work at the small buttons that ran down the front of her pyjamas. His hands shook slightly and he fumbled clumsily with the fastenings. He swore under his breath and aimed for a facade of false confidence. He had undressed plenty of women in his time, no need to suddenly be as awkward as a blushing virgin. 

When he had dealt with the buttons he pushed the top open before helping her out of it. He turned his attention back to her breast, running his thumb over the nipple until it began to harden under his touch. He leaned down over her, paused with his lips millimetres from her skin. A quick glance upwards and he saw her nod, took that as permission. 

She arched her back, pushing her chest up when his mouth met the soft skin of her breast. She toyed with his hair as he kissed his way across her chest, giving encouraging little tugs on the grey curls. He closed his lips around a nipple, sucking it into his mouth and grazing it with his teeth. 

“Personal question, Doctor?”

He bit down gently before answering her. “Go on.”

“Is this turning you on?”

He lifted his head to meet her questioning gaze. “Yeah,” he said, “it is.” He moved his hands lower, curling his fingers under the waistband of her trousers. “Can I?”

“You don't have to ask my permission every time a new thought pops into your head,” she told him. “You're allowed to show some initiative, you know. In fact it's generally encouraged.”

He pulled the trousers down her legs, dropping them onto the floor beside the bed. 

“That leaves you looking rather overdressed,” said Missy. 

He took the hint and undressed quickly, trying not to feel too self-conscious under her appraising gaze. He knelt beside her on the bed and she reached for him, tracing the length of his cock with her fingertips.

“You know,” she said, sounding thoughtful, “I'd swear these things used to look a lot more attractive when I had one of my own.”

He snorted a laugh, then hissed out a breath when she closed her fingers around him and tugged firmly. “Ah! Missy! Maybe not that hard, eh?”

“Sorry,” she said, altering her grip. She moved her hand more slowly this time, began a series of smooth, steady strokes. “What about this?”

“Better,” he said. 

She worked him with her hand until was satisfied with the results. “Yes,” she said, finally, “I think that gives us enough to work with, don't you?

With his hands on her knees he parted her legs and settled into the space between them. He probed her with his fingers, checking that she was wet enough, then moved himself into position and paused at her entrance.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded. “Very.”

He pressed into her slowly, watching her expression as she took him in. He held himself still above her, getting used to the sensation. At some point in the last seventy years he had allowed himself to forget how good this could feel. It was nice to be reminded so pleasantly. 

They began to move, rocking against each other slowly. They were in no great hurry, they could take all the time they needed.

He brought his mouth down to cover hers, drawing her into a kiss. He was surprised when she pulled away, turning her head to the side. 

“No, Doctor, not there.”

“You don't want me to kiss you?”

“It's a lie,” she said. “We both know that's not why we're doing this. It's not what we are.”

“Um, okay, sure, I'm sorry for assuming.” Feeling suddenly awkward he moved to avoid her steady gaze, dipping his head to brush his lips against her neck. “What about here?”

She tilted her head back to give him more space. “There's good, yes.”

He felt her touch move to the back of his neck, a sensitive spot on any Gallifreyan. She stroked her fingers over the skin, dug her nails in just enough, a light pressure that made him moan against her throat.

“I can't believe how good you feel,” he breathed into her ear. “You're so tight, Missy. Tighter than I expected you to be.”

“Expected? You mean you thought about doing this?”

“Only after you told me what was going to happen. My mind wandered.”

“Well,” she said, her voice low, “since we're sharing I suppose I should probably tell you that you feel good too. Very good.” 

They were moving more quickly now, exploring each other as the pressure built between them. He was beginning to worry that he would finish too soon, that he'd leave her frustrated. He had a vague notion that he was supposed to do something with football scores at moments like this, but hadn't the slightest idea what that might be.

“Are you close?” he asked. “Do you need me to do anything else?”

“Just keep doing what you're doing. Don't worry, I'll get there.” She shifted her hips, changing the angle to one that seemed to work better for her. Her breathing was becoming ragged and her moans were growing louder.

He needn't have worried, as it turned out. In the end she came not long before he did, with her fists in his hair and a wordless cry on her lips.

They lay beside each other in a companionable silence, slowly shifting into more comfortable positions on the bed.

The Doctor was the first to speak. “It was good, right?”

She nodded. “I liked it.”

“A lot?”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm not going to stroke your ego, Doctor.”

“Well, you stroked everything else.”

She laughed. “Shut up.” She turned onto her side to face him. “When's the last time you had sex?”

“Just now,” he said, “with you. Remember?”

“Before that, silly.”

The question stirred memories, both good and bad. “It was when I was on Darillium,” he said, “with River. Long before all this, years ago now.”

“Nothing else since then?”

He shrugged. “It just never happened. It didn't really bother me enough to seem worth the effort of getting into some sort of relationship with someone. Anyway,” he said, “what about you?”

“A few years before the vault, if I remember it right. He was a waiter, I think. Or maybe he just liked dressing as one.” She smiled, closed her eyes.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

“A bit.”

“You should get some sleep, then. You'll probably need it.” He kissed her forehead, smoothed her hair, and settled down to wait for sleep.

 

When morning arrived he woke in bright artificial sunlight and turned to look for Missy. Her side of the bed was neat, warm and empty. He sat up, stretched, and went to find her.

The bathroom door was slightly ajar and he rapped his knuckles on the wood. “Missy, are you in there?”

“No, I've scurried off to Mars to elope with a talking zebra.”

Well, at least her charming personality remained intact. “Are you in the bath?”

“Oh, for God's sake stop hanging around in the doorway letting all my nice hot air escape. Yes, I'm naked. No, it is nothing you haven't already seen. And touched. And had quite good sex with.”

“'Quite good'?” he repeated as he entered the room. “I would have rated it as at least excellent.”

Missy was lying back in her bathtub surrounded by an excessive number of bubbles. “Well, like you said, you were out of practice. You can't expect to maintain peak condition if you don't exercise the equipment every now and then.”

He flipped the lid down on the toilet and took a seat. “I help you out, I get insulted, glad to see that nothing has changed between us.”

“I do so enjoy our friendly banter,” she said, lathering her upper arm. 

“Have you taken your pills yet?” asked the Doctor.

“Took them when I woke up,” she replied. “Don't worry, I have no intention of having a close encounter with your genome.” She studied him critically. “Are you just going to wander about naked for the rest of the day? It's not a bad view, but even a masterpiece loses a certain something when it's always on display.”

“Hey, I just woke up, give me a chance.”

“Did you remember to bring a razor with you?” she asked.

“Yeah, there's one in my bag, why?”

“I don't like it when your face is all scratchy.” She pressed a palm against her cheek. “I have lovely soft skin, I have to protect it from men who don't shave.”

“You know, if it were anyone but you,” he said, “I'd be writing this whole conversation off as the result of some sort of hormonal mood-swing. But you're always like this, so I can't.”

“Speaking of hormones, promise me you won't make my bathroom smell of the sort of toiletries they sell to people afflicted with too much testosterone.”

“I'll do my best.” He attempted to change the subject. “Any plans for the day?” 

“I'd like to slaughter you at chess a few times, that's always a mood-lifter.”

“Who says you'll win?” he teased.

“I always win,” she shrugged, unconcerned. 

“About half the time, maybe.” 

“More than half the time, I've always been better than you at chess.” She smiled serenely. “You're my intellectual inferior, Doctor, but don't worry too much, that's a category that includes almost everyone.” She lifted a soapy arm and draped it over the edge of the bathtub. “My grades at the Academy were always far better than yours, as I'm quite sure you recall.”

“Hyper-dimensional engineering,” said the Doctor without missing a beat.

“Hmm? What about it?”

“I got higher grade than you did in that class.”

She was unimpressed. “In one subject.”

“Yes, but it was one important subject,” he said. “And my poetry was always better than yours as well.”

Missy shrugged delicate shoulders. “Who cares about poetry?”

“Everyone cares about poetry.”

“Besides,” she continued, “that's an entirely subjective judgement. I was more concise than you, and my metaphors were more evocative.”

“Oh, yeah, those erotic limericks that you used to carve into the desks were all about the evocative metaphors.”

“There was an old man from Rigel...” she began.

“Is this the one where his dick falls off at the end?”

“You remember it!” she cried, clearly delighted.

“It was one of your more memorable efforts, I admit.”

She pointed to a pink fluffy bath-towel that hung from the back of the door. “Hand me that towel.”

He did as he was told then stood to leave. “I'm going to make toast. Do you want any?”

“One slice, marmalade. The good stuff you bring me, not that crap the egg picks up at the supermarket. And put some clothes on before the novelty wears off and I evict you from my bed.”

 

Missy hummed an unfamiliar melody as she moved her piece across the board.

“What's that tune?” asked the Doctor.

She shrugged. “I don't know, I'm just making it up as I go along. Your move.”

He saw her obvious mistake and pounced on it. “Ha! Checkmate! I win. Again.” He started to remove the remaining pieces from the board, stopping when he glanced up at her and saw how upset she was looking. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

Missy rubbed her eyes. “Everything's wrong,” she said. “My concentration's shot to hell, I keep having these bloody stupid mood-swings, and I just cannot get these damn pictures out of my head.”

“Pictures of what?”

“What do you think?” she snapped.

“Sorry,” he said, “that was a stupid question.” He looked across to where she sat, shoulders slumped and misery on her face. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked, gently. “I could make you some of that tea. Would you like that?”

She shook her head, staring down at the almost-empty board. “No. Thanks but no.” She leaned back, lifting her arms to stretch them over her head. “You'll probably be feeling like this by tomorrow as well. A fact for which I am sincerely sorry.”

He shook his head. “You don't need to apologise, Missy, it's not like you did in on purpose.”

“I shouldn't have dragged you into this. It's the most selfish thing I've ever done and believe me when I say I've done some very selfish things over the centuries.”

“I knew what I was getting myself into. You, on the other hand, had absolutely no choice in the matter.”

Her lips curled into a sad little smile. “You know sometimes, Doctor, when I'm in one of my very rare emotionally-aware moods, I wonder just what I did to deserve a friend like you.”

Occasionally the Doctor wondered if he only put up with her usual antics for these infrequent glimpses of her more tender side. “Shall we play another game or do you want to do something else now?”

“I think I'd like to play the piano for a bit,” she said, getting to her feet. “Sometimes it calms me down.”

“Do you mind if I watch?”

“Feel free.”

 

She played for the next few hours, moving seamlessly from one piece into the next. The vault had good acoustics and the Doctor sat in a nearby armchair, eyes closed as he listened to her play.

He opened his eyes when he heard the music come to a stop.

“Doctor.” 

“Yes?”

She spoke without turning to look at him, her back straight as she sat at the piano. “How are you feeling?”

“Calm,” he said, “relaxed. Content. How about you?”

“I feel like I'm about to burst into flames,” she said as though she were discussing the weather. “Like I have an itch and no matter how much I scratch it it's never going to go away. I feel so many different things, all at once.”

“This must be very difficult for you.”

“It is, yes. Still, there's nothing that can be done about it. I'll just have to wait it out.”

He leaned forwards in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “You'll get through this, Missy. You're strong. I've never doubted you.”

“I wish I had your confidence.” 

He tried changing the subject slightly. “What about your other symptoms? How are those?”

“Are you referring to the overwhelming sexual urges?” She shrugged. “It's nothing I can't handle.”

“You will tell me, won't you, if -”

“If I feel a desperate uncontrollable need for your cock?”

He flinched at the bitterness in her voice. There was an unpleasant tension in the air and he wasn't sure what it meant. “Missy, what's happening here?”

She finally turned her head to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Did I say something to upset you?” he asked. 

She shook her head. “No, you didn't upset me. Don't worry, you couldn't hurt me even if you tried. You're not that important.”

He was surprised by how much it stung to hear her say that. “I thought I was,” he said, looking down at his hands. “Important. To you.”

She looked away again, back to her piano. “You are.” She was silent for a moment and then continued in a calmer tone. “Sorry, I'm just not in the best of moods right now. Maybe you should leave.”

“Leave the vault?”

“Yes.”

“I can't.”

“Course you can,” she said with an edge to her voice, “it's not like you can't just open that door and walk out of here.”

“I'm not going to leave you in here on your own, Missy.”

She lifted her hand back up to the keyboard, pressing down once on middle-C. “I don't want to break you,” she said, almost a whisper.

“You won't break me, I'm not made of glass.”

She spoke quietly, staring down at the keys beneath her fingers. “I know you didn't want to have sex with me. I'm sorry I made you do it.”

“You didn't make me. Anyway, it was good, I enjoyed it, and I'd like to think you did too.”

“You're too kind for your own good.”

He rubbed a hand over his eyes, suddenly tired. “Are you hungry?” he asked, when the silence grew too oppressive. “Would you like me to make you something to eat?”

“What do we have?” she asked, glancing at him over her shoulder. 

“Beef ravioli.”

“I hate beef ravioli.”

“Then I'll make something else.” He got up out of his armchair and climbed the steps that led up to the piano. He stood behind her and pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her head. “Come on, you can put the kettle on and I'll start cooking.” He offered her his hand to help her stand up and she took it, rising from the bench and following him to the kitchen. 

 

The were halfway through dinner when Missy started getting restless. She stabbed her fork into a chip rather viciously and then held it up in front of her as though examining it. She dropped it back onto the plate, sighed loudly, and then sat back in her chair. “Doctor,” she said.

“Yes?”

“You wanted me to tell you if I... needed you. And I do.”

He swallowed a mouthful of food. “Now?”

She nodded. “Please.”

He followed her over to the bed, dinner abandoned. Before he could ask her what she wanted she had spun him round and pushed him backwards onto the bed. He pushed himself up on his elbows to look at her.

“Stay there,” she told him. “Don't move.”

He watched her as she undressed impatiently, discarding her clothes on the floor. She was on him before he had a chance to admire the view properly, pushing him down and straddling him. 

She tugged on the hem of his t-shirt. “Why do you always wear so many layers?” she asked.

“I get cold,” he said, but her attention was elsewhere. Her hands were on his belt, unfastening the buckle. 

“Uh, Missy,” he said when unzipped his trousers, “I'm not quite ready for you just yet. I'm going to need a bit of encouragement.”

“I'll use my hand,” she said, curling her fingers round his cock. “Or should I use my mouth?”

“Either's fine.” He leaned his head back against the mattress, trying to focus on the way her hand felt.

“This is taking too long,” she announced after a while. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“Uh. You could try talking to me. That usually helps.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything you want.”

She nodded. “Is this cock bigger than that other one you had?”

“Which other one?”

“The one you had when we were on the Valiant.”

“Might be,” he said, not wanting to admit that he had, in fact, measured it more than once. “I'm not sure.” He watched the slow steady movement of her hand. “Do you like this one?”

“Yes,” she said, “it's a good size, it's a nice fit.” She glanced downwards. “I think I'm finally getting somewhere with this stupid thing.”

Maybe if he wished hard enough the ground beneath the vault would split open and swallow him whole. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” He should probably compliment her in some way. “You have nice hands, by the way. Soft skin. I mean, it's a nice body generally, I'm definitely a fan.”

“It's hard enough now,” she decided, lifting herself up and positioning herself over his cock. She slid down onto him without warning and the sudden heat of her made him groan.

She steadied herself with a hand on his chest and began rocking back and forth, up and down. It was good but not exactly what he wanted. He pushed himself up with his hands, moving until he was sitting upright on the edge of the bed with Missy held securely in his lap.

“You moved,” she said. 

“This is better,” he told her, stroking her back with his hand. “I can touch you now. Taste you.” He pushed her hair back and bent his head to her neck, kissing the exposed flesh. He felt her hands in his hair, guiding him to the most sensitive spots.

He moved his hands to her hips, steadying her as he began thrusting upwards to meet her. And then she did _something_ and God knows what it was but it was _good_ , it was really, really good.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned against her skin, “Do that again. Please just... just do that again.” She did as he asked, repeating the move and making him cry out.

“Missy, where the _hell_ did you learn to do that?”

She smiled and bopped his nose with a finger. “It's a secret.”

“Do you know what you are, Missy? You're exquisite. That's the word, exquisite.”

She stroked his hair tenderly. “Oh, Doctor, you don't need to flatter me, you've already got me right where you want me.”

“I do, you know. I've got you exactly where I want you. I want you close, so very, very close.” He kissed her earlobe, sucking it into his mouth. 

“How close?” she asked, leaning back to look at him when he released her ear.

“I think you can guess.”

She laughed. “You want me on your cock, is that what you're trying to say?”

He nodded. “Yes. Yes, that's exactly what I'm trying to say. I want you on it all the time.”

“I can't be on it all the time,” she said, fondly.

“Why the hell not? I'll move into the vault. I'll move in and then I'll just fuck you constantly.”

“Silly Doctor, we couldn't do it constantly. If nothing else we'd need to stop occasionally to eat.”

“Fuck that, I'll stop eating.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes,” he said, standing his ground. His mouth twitched into a wicked smile.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because I know you're close. You're going to come soon, aren't you, Missy? You're going to come for me.” He held her tightly, trying to get rid of the sliver of empty space between them.

“And then you'll come too, I assume?”

He nodded. “Absolutely. Mind-blowing orgasms, both of us, any minute now.”

Luckily for his substantial ego, his prediction proved to be accurate. Missy was loud and theatrical and if any of his friends were standing outside the vault listening then yes, he would die of embarrassment, but he hoped they could find it in themselves to be just a little bit proud of him.

For a while they stayed there locked together on the edge of the bed.

“That was good,” said Missy, playing with his hair.

“That was better than good,” he insisted.

“You're right, it was.” She looked at him with a fond expression. “I like it when you look at me like that,” she said.

“Like what?”

“Like I'm the most wonderful thing you've ever seen.”

“Maybe you are,” he offered with a shrug of his shoulders.

She kissed his cheek. “I'm sure that in two thousand years you've seen prettier sights than me.”

“Prettier, yes, but not more wonderful.”

Missy smiled with obvious pleasure. “We should probably move,” she said, shifting in his lap.

“I don't want to,” he complained, trying to hold her in place.

“Well, we'll have to move at some point, dear.”

She was almost certainly right. He reached up to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “We should get those plates washed,” he said, accepting his inevitable defeat.

Her brows quirked into a confused little frown that he found rather adorable. “What plates?”

“Dinner, remember? We were eating?”

“Oh.” She took hold of his wandering hands and moved them to his sides, hopping down from his lap before he could catch a hold of her again. “You wash, I'll dry.”

 

The Doctor had somehow convinced himself that if only he could curl his body into a small enough ball then his headache might somehow go away. That would leave just the nausea and the emotional instability, but he felt certain he could handle those if the pounding in his head would only stop.

He wished he had thought to bring some painkillers with him into the vault. They wouldn't do anything for this kind of headache, of course, but even the placebo effect would be welcome right now. 

He heard the bathroom door swing open and closed, soft footsteps crossing the room towards him. He felt the mattress dip as someone sat down beside him on the bed.

“It doesn't last long,” said Missy, softly. “It'll be over before you know it.” He felt her fingers in his hair, stroking gently through the soft curls. “I'm sorry for putting you through this.”

“It's not like you did it on purpose,” he mumbled. 

“Even so.” 

He groaned. “Fuck, this can't be half as bad as it's been for you and it's still too much for me.”

He heard her laugh. “You're the weaker sex, dear, you're not built for this sort of thing. I wouldn't be a man again for all the gold on Voga.”

“What's the point of all this headache shit anyway? Is it supposed to be arousing in some way?” 

“It's about bonding with your mate, silly. It's to bring us closer emotionally so that you won't run off and leave me as soon as you've knocked me up.”

He frowned. “Seriously?” With a series of movements that was far too difficult and painful he turned to face her. 

“Don't you remember the sex lecture they gave us at the academy? The one where Borusa went bright red when Runcible asked what the clitoris was for?”

“I slept in that day and you wouldn't let me copy your notes. Anyway,” he went on as she went back to stroking his hair, “I wouldn't run off and leave you even if your reproductive cycle didn't make me feel like shit on occasion.”

She smiled. “That's very sweet.”

He shrugged. “It's true.” 

“How's the headache?” she asked. “It should be easing off a bit by now.”

“It still hurts, but not as much. I don't feel like I'm going to throw up any more, either.”

“Good,” said Missy. “Are you tired?”

He nodded. “A bit, now that you mention it.”

“We should sleep,” she said. “It's probably a good idea to rest before the next bit.”

“What's the next bit?”

“You really did miss that lecture didn't you?” she asked. She smiled again, and this time it was hard to read. “The headache goes when the short-term psychic bond is established. We become, as it were, of one mind.”

Not for the first time, the Doctor wondered just how much he had managed to forget about his own species in the centuries since he had first left home. “And then what happens?”

“And then,” she said, matter-of-factly, “we shag each other senseless.”

“But we already did that,” he said, confused.

“That was just the warm-up, dear. This is the main event.”

 

The “main event,” so-called, turned out to be an overwhelming _need_ , an attempt to scratch an itch that just wouldn't go away. They fucked – there was no other word for it, really – for hours, but with their lost sense of time it seemed like it might have been forever. 

While their bodies tried to merge their minds coiled around each other, just the thoughts on the surface but enough for the occasional confusion about which of them was which. He didn't have to ask where to touch her, or to wait for her suggestions, because he just _knew_. 

When it ended she slipped from his mind, becoming a separate entity again. They were both too tired to move, lying on her bed next to each other as they tried to remember how to breathe normally.

Missy held her wrist up to examine it, rubbing the skin. “That's going to bruise,” she said, an observation rather than a complaint.

The Doctor remembered gripping her wrists to hold her down, though he couldn't say when or why he had done it. “Sorry.”

She shrugged. “It's fine. Call it a souvenir.”

“You're okay otherwise?”

She thought for a moment. “Sensitive. Not quite sore. You?”

“Tired,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Exhausted, actually.”

Missy shuffled over until she was pressed up against his side, and they embraced each other without quite thinking. “I'm a bit surprised that you haven't done this before,” she said, resting her head on his chest.

He frowned up at the ceiling, confused. “Of course I've done it before, you know that.”

“Not the sex,” she clarified, “the rest of it. The ovulation thing.”

“I wasn't married long enough for it to happen, and then Romana was only around for about a decade before she left me. I don't really have that much experience with Time Lords. If I had to guess I'd say most of my sexual partners have been human. 

“Which is disgusting, by the way,” said Missy, without malice.

“You married Lucy,” he reminded her. 

“Only because I had to. I needed a photogenic and obedient wife. Anyway, she shot me, which just goes to show that I should never have married a human.”

“Hmm,” he muttered, too tired to confront Missy's misremembered past.

“Are you falling asleep?”

He yawned. “No.”

“Don't lie.” She snuggled in closer. “You were my first friend, you know. I'd spent time with other children before I went to the academy, of course, but I never made any friends. I thought maybe I just wasn't that sort of person. And then I met you.

He laughed without opening his eyes. “All those tricks we used to play on old Borusa.”

“Oh, he hated us.”

“With good reason,” he replied.

He felt her smile against the skin over his hearts. “We made quite the pair.”

“We still do,” he said, hugging her more tightly. 

“You can sleep now,” said Missy, “I'm done with the emotional confessions. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

 

Morning arrived, bright sunlight spilling through the fake windows. The Doctor wondered if he should have added recorded birdsong to the illusion, just for verisimilitude. He finished dressing as Missy emerged from the bathroom in a soft pink robe. She smiled at him, her expression relaxed and content.

She stopped a few feet from him and held out her hands. “Will you dance with me, Doctor?”

“There's no music,” he said, doing up the last button on his shirt.

Missy shrugged easily. “We don't need music.” She coughed pointedly when he didn't move and he stepped towards her, one hand taking hold of hers and the other drifting to rest at her waist. After a brief wordless dispute over which of them should lead – she won, of course – they began to move. It wasn't so much dancing as turning slowly around one spot, but it was pleasant enough and there was no one else around to criticise. 

“So why are we dancing?” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence. 

Missy smiled at him. “We're celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?”

“Victory over base biological urges,” she said, obviously pleased. “I'm fairly sure it's almost over. You can probably leave tomorrow, get back to the outside world and academia and your ridiculous little friends.”

He ignored that last comment. “And you'll be alright on your own? I'm not in any hurry, I can stay as long you need me.”

“To be quite honest with you, Doctor, I'm sick of the sight of you.” She smiled to make it clear that she was only half serious. 

He smiled too. “It's always nice to feel appreciated.”

They lapsed back into silence, Missy resting her head against his shoulder. 

“I know I've said thank you,” she said after some time. “More than once even. It just doesn't seem like enough.”

“You don't need to thank me.”

“Well, I'm going to.”

“Missy -”

“Just shut up and let me say thanks.” She lifted her head so that she could look him in the eye as she spoke. “I know that we don't always get along. And I know that there are certain things about me that you really don't like. And I know that sometimes I just drive you up the wall. But you've always been a good friend to me, Doctor. A very good one. I realise I don't really deserve to have any friends, and certainly not one like you. So thank you, Doctor. For everything.”

He blinked, his mouth feeling suddenly dry. “That was quite a touching little speech,” he managed.

She nodded. “I thought so too. I've been working on it for a while now. I hadn't quite perfected it before I ran out of time but I think it manages to convey the general idea.”

He leaned in and kissed her forehead gently. “I'm glad I was able to help.”

“Well, it's almost over now, you won't have to worry about it for another eighty years.” There was something in her expression that he couldn't quite interpret. Uncertainty? Regret? Loss? She spoke again, interrupting his thoughts. “I'd kill for a slice of toast, by the way.”

“We can't stop dancing in the middle of a song. I'll get breakfast sorted when it's over.”

She smiled, shaking her head indulgently. “I've never liked this song,” she said, joining the game, “it's too sentimental.”

“I like it,” he replied. “It reminds me of you.”

She cocked her head, pretending to listen. “The melody has a certain something, I suppose, but the lyrics are saccharine. You're going soft in your old age.”

He laughed. 

 

She was right about things returning to normal. A calm settled over the vault and the day passed quietly and without event. They played cards; she read to him; he cooked; she played her latest composition on the piano. Time passed as they spent a pleasant afternoon and evening together, content in each other's company. 

They went to bed late, more relaxed than tired. The Doctor was half-asleep when Missy tapped his shoulder and spoke. 

“One more for the road?” she asked.

He opened his eyes to look at her, trying to think of an answer. He hesitated. 

“It's fine,” she said eventually, “we don't have to. It's just, you know, since we're here and we still have an excuse.”

“Okay,” he said, before he could think too much. “We might as well.”

She nodded and moved, lifting herself over and up, settling on top of him. He raised his hands, unbuttoning the shirt of her pyjamas and then exploring the revealed skin of her torso.

They progressed slowly, feeling no pressing biological need to rush. It might be the last time they did this - at least for several decades until Missy's body cycled once more - and neither of them wanted to hurry to a conclusion. It was different this time, slower and more tender. If there was no real reason for them to be doing this then at least they could pretend that there was. 

When it ended he held himself over her, kissing her jaw and her neck. He spoke in the short pauses between contacts. “Look, Missy, can I ask you something?” 

She trailed her fingertips over his shoulders and back. “Of course you can.”

He took a moment to collect his thoughts and gather some confidence. “When this is over, and we can stop doing this sort of thing, is there any chance that we could... not stop?” There, he had said it and all he had to do now was wait for rejection.

Missy raised her eyebrows. “You think we should keep having sex?”

He shrugged, trying to seem unconcerned. “It's just a suggestion, just an idea.”

She seemed to take forever to respond. “Okay,” she said, finally. “It's fun, it kills time, why not?”

The Doctor cleared his throat, kissed the skin just beneath her ear so that he didn't have to meet her gaze. “And, um, I think I should tell you that... I... have some feelings.”

“You have feelings,” she repeated, her voice neutral.

He managed to lift his head to look at her “Lots of them.”

“What about?”

“Uh. Well. Mostly they're about you. And me as well. Me and you. Both of us. And about how much you mean to me.” He was blushing and he knew it, hot blood reddening his skin.

Missy looked up at him with a strange and unreadable expression. “Doctor,” she said, slowly, “are you trying to tell me that you love me?”

“Will you hit me if I say yes?”

Her reply was gentle. “No, I won't hit you.”

“You won't?”

“No, but I will do this.” She took his head in her hands and pulled him down into a kiss, her lips parting as their mouths met.

It was some time before they separated, and then the Doctor spoke. “You told me I wasn't allowed to kiss you on the mouth.”

She stroked his hair and ran her fingers across the nape of his neck. “I changed my mind,” she said.

“Right, but -”

“Shut up, Doctor. Okay? Just... just shut up.”

She kissed him again and it didn't seem polite to argue. 

 

Someone rapped out a cautious knock on his office door. 

“Come in,” he called, “it's not locked.”

The door swung open and Bill slipped into the room. “You're back, then,” she said.

“Yes, I'm back.” He gestured towards her usual chair. “Take a seat, I could do with the company.”

She sat down, leaning back in the chair. “So... did everything go okay?” She held up a hand. “I don't need the kinky details.”

“Yes, everything went okay. Better than okay, actually.”

“Does that mean that you two are... dating now?”

“'Dating'?” he repeated. “Time Lords don't date, Bill, we're not teenagers.”

She snorted. “Okay, not dating. I just mean... are you two... a thing?”

“We're still arguing over the details, but yeah, basically.” He shrugged. “It's kind of a big change, it might take a while for us to adapt.”

“So... is she staying in the vault?”

He leaned back in his chair and ran a finger along the edge of his desk. “She has to,” he said quietly. “She's better than she was, but there's still a lot she needs to work on.”

“Not going to let her out just because she's your girlfriend now, then?”

“I can't, that would be irresponsible in the extreme. I wish I could, though.”

Bill nodded. “Still, it's not like she's going to be in there forever.”

“No,” he agreed, “not forever. Just a very long time.”

She wanted to say something else, he could tell. She was furrowing her eyebrows and chewing on her lip the way she did when something was troubling her.

“Bill, if there's something you want to say, just say it.”

“Promise me you didn't knock her up.”

“Bill!” He was shocked, he hadn't been expecting her to come out with something like that. “Bill, no, I didn't, we were very careful about that.”

“Good, because I'm not ready to be an aunt. Especially not an alien's aunt. Extra especially not if Missy's the mother.” 

He rubbed his face with a hand. “You don't have to worry about that happening, cross my hearts.”

“Because if you two made a baby that would be undeniable proof that you were having sex with each other. That's not something I want to have to think about. Cos, like, you and sex exist in two totally separate universes that never come into contact with each other.”

“It really bothers you that much?”

“Yeah! I mean, you're like my space-dad. No one likes to have to think about their parents having sex.”

He felt himself smile. “I'm your space-dad? Really?”

She shrugged. “Does that make you feel weird?”

He spun his chair around in one complete circle. “No, it doesn't bother me. Actually I think it's quite sweet. I think I like it.” He spun himself round again. “Space-dad. I'm a space-dad. A cool alien space-dad.”

Bill shook her head, smiling. “I didn't say you were cool.”

He was grinning now. “Yeah, but you were thinking it.”

“I really wasn't, you know.”

“Bill, I'm your space-dad, I can tell when you're lying.”

She laughed. “Shut up, Doctor.”

“You can't tell your own space-parents to shut up, that's not how it works.”

“That's one of the space-rules is it?”

“Yeah,” he said, “totally one of the space-rules.” He rested his chin on his hands, elbows on the desk, content.

“Wait,” said Bill, with a worried expression, “does that make Missy my space-mum?”

“Do you want her to be your space-mum?” He could more or less guess what her answer was going to be, and he understood her reasons.

Bill paused for a moment, then said, “Is there a word that means the opposite of 'yes,' but that's like... a million times more emphatic than 'no'?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Not in English, as far as I know. I think there's something similar in Old Draconian though.”

“Because that's the word. That's my answer to that question.”

He sat back. “So we're not all going to be one happy little nuclear space-family, then?” He tilted his head, shrugged. “That's okay, we probably don't want to be that traditional anyway.”

“Can I go now?” asked Bill. “Only, I'm sort of going on a date tonight.”

“Okay,” he said, “but you have to bring her here tomorrow, at noon, so that I can meet her and ask about her prospects. And I want to be clear on what her intentions are, whether or not she plans to make an honest woman of you.”

Bill rose to her feet, stepping towards the door. “Oh, that is so not going to happen.” She paused in the doorway. “You're okay, right?”

“More than,” he assured her. He waited until she had closed the door behind her, then spun his chair around once more and smiled up at the ceiling.


End file.
